


How 'The Abominable Bride' Should Have Ended

by LadyGlinda



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Episode: The Abominable Bride, Fix-It, Fluff, Hospitalization, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Parts Of Season 4 Worked In, Sibling Incest, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:34:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23946262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/pseuds/LadyGlinda
Summary: The scene in the plane with a different (and, like I think, more plausible) ending.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Sherlock Holmes
Comments: 21
Kudos: 91





	How 'The Abominable Bride' Should Have Ended

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SlytherinsDragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlytherinsDragon/gifts).



> Another fix-it drabble about a scene that always irked me. Mycroft tells Sherlock he would always be there for him - after sending him on a death mission. We might assume that he had planned to get him out, but it is never explained in the show. And Sherlock doesn't react to this at all. Shouldn't he have? And why does Mycroft not suspect that Eurus has something to do with this Moriarty video? Shouldn't it have occurred to him at this point? And why is he sitting around so casually with Mary, who almost killed Sherlock? Never confronts her? And the worst part of it all - nobody ever mentions what happened to Moriarty's body. He shot himself, Sherlock jumped off the roof. Is Jim's corpse still lying there? If they got it, they have to know that he is dead. If they had not found it, wouldn't it make sense to say that?  
> Well, I don't know if anyone is interested in this but have it nonetheless.

Mycroft leaned forward. “Sherlock, listen to me.” He knew that Sherlock just wanted them all to leave the plane. But he had to set things straight now. Sherlock was back from his four-minute exile. But this was not the end of the story as every one of them knew.

Very unsurprisingly, Sherlock didn’t want to hear anything from him. “No. It only encourages you.”

“I’m not angry with you.”

“Oh, that’s a relief. I was _really_ worried. No, hold on. I really wasn’t.”

They locked eyes. Mycroft felt like walking on slippery planks. Of course Sherlock was being petulant. Nothing else had been to be expected, especially not in the presence of the doctor and his wife. Sherlock had always been way ghastlier to him when John had been with him. A strange way to impress his friend… “I was there for you before,” he said softly, hoping to get the truth across. Well, the part of the truth he wanted Sherlock to see. “I’ll be there for you again. I’ll _always_ be there for you.”

“Oh really?” Sherlock suddenly flared, making everybody in the back of the plane wince. “You realise that sounds a bit stupid, don’t you? It was _you_ who sent me on this bloody death mission! Without Moriarty popping up so conveniently, I’d be on my way to death!”

John gasped and so did Mary. “Hold on. What…”

Mycroft ignored them. Sherlock's words had cut deep. “I had no choice, brother mine,” he interrupted the doctor. “You had killed someone. For _them_.” Now _his_ voice was full of contempt.

Sherlock snorted and suddenly Mycroft could see how deeply he was hurt. He had really thought Mycroft would let him die. He had felt betrayed. Well, this was a feeling that Mycroft knew very well, but still he would have thought that Sherlock had known better. But why, he wondered. They had been estranged for way too long, and the short time when they had been preparing Sherlock's fake death, being on much better terms, had not been enough to cover all the cuts of the past. Not by far.

“I would have gotten you out if you hadn’t managed on your own. Without anyone’s knowledge, I had two agents planted in the organisation you were supposed to infiltrate. They would have saved you if you had gotten in serious danger.”

Sherlock gaped at him. “But… You didn’t mention anything like this.”

Mycroft knew that Sherlock could see that he was telling the truth. “No. I… was upset. How could you do something that… unspeakable. And what for!” He pointedly glanced at the Watsons. “What are they to you? John welcomed you with his _fists_ when you came back from your mission.” Seeing Sherlock afterwards, bleeding and depressed, had broken his heart.

“No, wait a minute…” John threw in and Mary huffed out a disbelieving laugh as if she hadn’t been there when John had gotten violent against his brother.

And speaking about Mary… “And _you_ , Mrs Watson. Don’t think I don’t know that you nearly killed my brother.” It had terrified him – Sherlock forgiving this woman for firing at him. If he had found out immediately afterwards, he would have taken care of her. “You are not worthy of his intervention.”

“I didn’t mean to…”

“You can leave this plane now,” Mycroft interrupted her before turning back to his brother. “What did you expect, Sherlock? You were willing to destroy your life and you had no regards for what it would mean to me. My brother, a murderer. A traitor. Do you have any idea how this felt for me?”

“Listen…” Mary said but Sherlock raised his hand.

“You heard my brother. You can go home now. I’ll be fine. And I’ll be in touch.” His voice sounded strangely absent to Mycroft's ears, and his eyes were glued to his as if he wanted to dig in his brain.

“But… What about Moriarty?”

“John…”

“Fine, we’re leaving. Come, Mary. But don’t complain when you two get at each other’s throats.”

None of the Holmes brothers graced this with an answer, and grumbling to himself, John Watson took his wife at the hand and led her to the exit. Or probably she was rather leading him… The staff had already left the plane.

“What is this about, brother?” Sherlock whispered when they were alone. “What about this mission? Why did you send me there after telling me that I shouldn’t consider doing that? And what about Moriarty?” He shook his head. “That little adventure in my head… I’m almost convinced… that he’s... dead.”

Mycroft had no idea what to say to this. And then, to his horror, Sherlock's eyes closed again. Damn it. In this, John had been right – Sherlock had taken too many drugs. He might be in danger of collapsing.

The older man got up and shook him. “Wake up!”

Sherlock groaned. “Let me. Need to find out more…”

“No. You don’t. Stay.” But Mycroft could see Sherlock’s eyelids flutter again. With a sigh, he took out his phone. Sherlock needed to be looked after.

And then… He needed some painful truths so he would understand why Mycroft had been upset enough to send him away. Mycroft had avoided them for a long time but he felt that he couldn’t do that anymore. Well, and someone had to make sure he would be cleared of the murder he had committed as Mycroft didn't want to risk him facing prison time after all. And that someone would be Mycroft, of course. Perhaps some technicians could do a bit of magic with the security footage.

And perhaps Mycroft should also have a serious word with the people in Sherrinford, because he had the strong feeling that a certain prisoner was not as secure as she was supposed to be...

*****

When he entered Sherlock's hospital room, he expected to be glared at but to his surprise, Sherlock was watching him with clear eyes and curiosity. He had been informed that his brother had woken up from a very long sleep, and he had hurried to catch him before he could leave the hospital. They had given him medication to come down from the drugs, and Sherlock had definitely needed the long rest.

“Not angry with me?” he said, carefully, when he slowly walked over to the bed. The sun was going down, showering the room with red light.

“Nope. In my dream, I returned to my vision. And I’m absolutely sure now. Moriarty’s dead.”

“Yes. Well, we did find his corpse on the roof…”

“Yeah. Could have been a twin.”

“Wasn’t, though. He doesn’t have any siblings.”

Sherlock nodded. “It’s never twins… So who, Mycroft? Who placed the videos?”

Mycroft bit his lip. “It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time. They want to keep me here until the morning.”

“I wouldn’t have thought you would agree to that.”

Sherlock shrugged. “All I have to go home to is an empty flat. Or a prison cell… When they find out that there is no danger from Moriarty, what will they do?”

Mycroft didn’t answer. Instead he handed him his phone after starting a video. Showing that Sherlock had dropped the gun before Magnussen had been shot.

Sherlock was all wide eyes when he handed the phone back. “Amazing. They let you make this the official version?”

“Yes. You are off the hook. In the end, they had to agree that a dead blackmailer is a good blackmailer. Especially Lady Smallwood was convinced quickly when I reminded her that this man’s schemes had caused the death of her husband. And I solved the other problem as well so we can forget about Mr Moriarty and the person who had launched the video, and we can all live happily ever after.”

“Who was it, Mycroft?”

He took a deep breath. “Our sister.”

*****

“Hello, Eurus. How are you?”

Mycroft had made sure to fill out the webcam as much as possible. Plus, it was dark in the hospital room so she couldn’t see anything of his surroundings.

She glowered at him. _“Have you called me to mock me, dear brother?”_ she spat out. Her face was ghostly pale, her hair a tousled mess. She didn't look very happy. But then, she had never had...

“Hm. Have I? Have I perhaps spoilt all your plans you had for our brother?”

Sherlock was standing next to him, able to see the foreign face on the screen. He still looked shocked and shaken about all the revelations. Mycroft had put everything on the table. Redbeard, who hadn’t been a dog. Musgrave, burnt down by their sister. Moriarty, alone with her for the five minutes they had needed to plot against him.

He should have seen this long before – that Moriarty’s hate for Sherlock had not only been fuelled by the old story of Carl Powers. Eurus had steered him into Sherlock's direction out of resentments that surpassed those between him and Sherlock by far, out of burning jealousy and hatred for the brother who had not paid the attention to her that she had been craving. He had been exceptionally blind – and he could have spared Sherlock the mission that had forced him to fake his death and that had scarred his back forever and made him and the doctor grow apart. Even though this last bit was not such a negative outcome, he would have thought if he had permitted himself to indulging in such musings.

Anyway… Sherlock knew now why he had suggested sending him back to Eastern Europe after he had shot Magnussen – because he had feared that Sherlock was like Eurus. It had been stupid of course, he had realised when he had been finished with cleaning up a prison that had gotten under the command of their most evil prisoner. Eurus acted because of hatred – Sherlock had killed for love. A love for a friend and his wife, as inexplicable this might be to Mycroft. Sherlock had been wrong to do this. To drug him and their old parents as well as a pregnant woman; exactly the woman he had wanted to protect. To steal his laptop and sell him to Magnussen and then kill him in the end to make sure he couldn’t testify against him and the doctor and to save Mary from him. But Sherlock had not seen a way out. He had killed without remorse but not because of malice or because he enjoyed it. Eurus did. Whatever she had planned for Sherlock would have been horrible. And somehow Mycroft assumed that he and John would have been involved heavily as well. Because if Eurus already hated Sherlock – how much did she have to hate him? And the doctor who was so close to the brother she had always wanted for herself?

And now nothing of this would happen. The prison had a new governor, new staff, and everybody would be heavily monitored. Nobody would talk to Eurus again. She would receive her meals in silence, would only be speaking to him via video call. To him. And Sherlock. Because Sherlock had insisted on it, of course. His oh-so sociopathic brother with the soft heart. Of course he would want to talk to her and maybe even console her. Was it a weakness? Or rather an admirable treat to feel so much?

Yes. He was the right one to judge this. He with the heaviest weakness of all. And the deepest feelings of all… But that wasn’t their subject now…

Eurus was staring at him with an icy glare. _“I didn’t think you would be smart enough to figure it out.”_

Mycroft raised his eyebrows. “Oh. I’m touched. That was almost a compliment. Do not fret. I will soon provide you with more puzzles to pass the time.” She snorted and he suppressed a grin. This had almost been a Sherlock-reaction… “And… I have a surprise for you. Here it comes.” And with this he stepped aside and Sherlock took his place.

*****

The last sentence Eurus had said was still hanging in the air when Mycroft closed his laptop with shivering fingers. He was such an idiot… Why had he not seen this coming? Had it even been malice? Or had she really been touched so much by being allowed to talk to Sherlock, a Sherlock who was interested in her and had oozed so much sympathy that she had even meant it as a kind of help? Very unlikely…

He cleared his throat. “Well. I think I should leave you alone now so you can go to sleep. It’s all done and dusted and you can return to your normal life tomorrow.”

Sherlock had not said a word since saying goodbye to their sister. He was watching him though, with an incredibly unsettling urgency.

When he still kept silent, Mycroft gave him a nod and stalked towards the door. He had to get out of here. Pretending that he hadn’t heard it. Damn… He should have told Sherlock that it wasn’t true. Yes. Great idea. As if Sherlock had not deduced within a second that it was a lie… He was fucked, there was no other way to put it.

“Wait.”

He stopped at the door, his shoulders slumping. “Sherlock… It was just her way of getting back at me. I spoilt her game and…”

“I don’t think so. And I don’t really care why she said it. It’s true, isn’t it?”

It wasn’t really a question. “No,” he whispered, knowing it to be stupid. He wasn’t surprised at all when he heard steps behind him. Sherlock had dressed for the call after freshening up. Mycroft had let Anthea send him clothes to the hospital after the ambulance had taken his brother. So it was not a Sherlock in hospital clothes, feeling vulnerable. It was Sherlock the detective, and he had a case to solve. A case he had never been supposed to know about.

The case of the heavily-in-love brother…

“You said it. You would always be there for me,” Sherlock said quietly when he had reached him.

Mycroft didn’t turn to him. “Of course. That’s what brothers do.”

“But there was something in your eyes that didn’t fit this explanation. You always said that caring wasn’t an advantage but you always cared for me. You said my loss would break your heart.”

“I was drugged. _You_ had drugged me.” Mycroft didn’t know why he was protesting at all.

Sherlock knew it. Eurus knew it. _‘Mycroft loves you,’_ she had whispered. _‘Loves you sooo much.’_

There hadn’t been any doubt about what she meant.

He felt naked. Stripped of all his shields. It was true. He had loved Sherlock forever. And he couldn’t even pinpoint the moment when this love had turned into longing. But it had never ceased to be. And he would have taken these feelings to the grave – if he, the so-called smart one, hadn’t been outsmarted by baby sister...

“If you…” he croaked. “If you feel anything for me, Sherlock, please, let it rest. Forget it. Don’t make fun of…” He broke off when he felt Sherlock touching him, grabbing him from behind, and when two soft lips kissed his neck. “What… Sherlock…”

“Look at me.”

Feeling dazed and dizzy, Mycroft turned around, seeing Sherlock staring at him. “Why did you do that?”

“Because now it all makes sense. My strange feelings for you. My dreams about you.”

“Dreams… about me…” He sounded like a broken toy. Or a drunk parrot…

Sherlock nodded, looking completely serious. “When I was away. It wasn’t John I dreamt about. It was you.”

“That’s easy to explain.” It couldn’t be true, and he didn’t want to have hopes that would only turn to ashes. “You only talked to _me_ for two years. It’s natural that…” And then he was shut up with a kiss to his lips, two arms embraced him tightly, and all he could do was succumb to the sweetest surprise of his life.

The End


End file.
